


A Tragedy, Revised

by Golden_Au



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Don't copy to another site, Eventual Afterdeath, Eventual Sancest, M/M, Multi, Of Tragedy and Death Rewrite!, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Sick Character, Tags May Change, sancest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Au/pseuds/Golden_Au
Summary: Sometimes, changes take place as a story travels through the centuries, passing from person to person like a game of telephone. As this happens, the story is at risk of warping, which leaves us with a question: Just how different can a retelling of a story be? Are the changes subtle, or grand?Well, let’s take a look and see.(A remastering of the story ‘Of Tragedy and Death (Incomplete).’ Please read the notes inside!)
Relationships: Afterdeath-Relationship, Geno (Aftertale! Sans)/Reaper (Reapertale! Sans), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 114
Kudos: 152





	1. Enter Stage Left

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to TKWolf45 because I can (hi honey).

When their child made his way into the world, it became quite clear that, for all their passion for the subjects, neither science, faith, nor a mixture of the two was enough to prepare them for the little bundle of blankets and bones they called Sans; their son.

Her husband, Gaster, was a smart man. Passionate as well. In their younger years, it was that passion that drew her in, for rarely did she witness that fire in the souls of their peers. Not after war ravaged their land, at least. 

Listless in the face of misery and hopelessness, so many within the kingdom had lacked the inspiration for… anything. The losses were too great and the pain far too deep for many to do much more than exist in their grief. For some unfortunate souls? Even existing was a task too difficult, and monsters would close wet eyes for a rest they would never escape. It was a dark time. Dreary. Much was lost, but even more was given up. Monsters as a whole were giving up, but not Gaster. Never Gaster.

Intelligent beyond belief, Gaster had an understanding of magic and science that was outweighed only by his love for the subjects. From a young age, he turned his back on legends that explained the gifts of monsterkind and instead sought out truths in numbers and facts. With every discovery, his love grew and with it, his passion. None of his great knowledge aided in the war, but afterwards? It was Gaster and his passion that returned to them much of what they lost: Power for their homes, safety, and the belief that, though much was lost, there were many things they could reclaim, rebuild. As for herself…

Like Gaster, she too was filled with passion, yet it was neither science or magic that drew her attention, but legend. Myths, her dear husband would often grumble, though not unkindly. 

Although most of monsterkind worshiped the stars many were too afraid to venture out of the Underground Kingdom to see, her worship was to the gods. The Lord of the Skies, Lady Life, and all the other deities she learned of through tales passed down through her family. Her beliefs made her a bit of a pariah after the war—it was a human religion, so many claimed—but she never gave it up, nor did she relinquish the practices that acted as her only ties to kin long since returned to the Earth as dust. These legends and the ways she honored them? They were hers. Her passion.

When she and Gaster married, these passions often collided. Sometimes, it was a bit frustrating. More often than not, it was… pleasurable. Her husband didn’t belittle her beliefs, but he rather enjoyed debating them. Heated voices, mad gestures, passion in every expression, every word… 

The sex after their debates was always wonderful. 

Sex, when careless, often led to pregnancy however, and though careless was not a word fit for either her or her husband, ‘longing’ was. They loved one another, but as they settled into their lives as husband and wife, she and Gaster found themselves wanting more. Not to be apart, but more. A child.

Their methods of going about this were different, yet ultimately the same. Both turned to their passions. While Gaster sought out research about timing and cycles and every other variable that could better their odds, she danced in fields of flowers and made offerings in hopes that Lady Life would turn a gentle smile her way, and perhaps a blessing. At the end of the day, it was more sex that left her pregnant, yet there was no guarantee that neither of their methods  _ didn’t  _ work. Gaster’s genius, her belief… both could have helped. Arguing over which helped more was fun though, even more so when she was able to use mood swings to win. For all his intelligence, Gaster was still a man and wisely feared the wrath of a wife swelled with child. 

Their bickering over facts and belief didn’t end there though. They were having a  _ child!  _ The first that would be born to any of the few skeletons that remained within the kingdom. It was as exciting as it was terrifying, so they turned more and more to the comfort of that which they loved in order to prepare. 

Gaster bought books and scrolls and even a stone tablet that offered advice on both pregnancy and parenting. What dangers to look out for, what foods she ought to eat, what task would be too difficult to perform, and when. He took her for examinations, performed some on her himself, and was always sprinting to her side with a new fact to share. It was endearing, if not sometimes a bit too much. She loved him, but she needed space. Peace.

So, whenever her husband was out performing his duties, she stole away the hours of his absence for herself. 

Walking then waddling as time went on, she would flee their home and walk as far as she dared. Before pregnancy, this meant a stroll out of the Underground, but during it…? Oh, she didn’t dare leave the lands their king named. She loved the forest beyond their borders most of all, but that adoration did little to lessen the danger that came with leaving the Underground Kingdom. 

The scars of war faded slowly, as did the tensions born through all the conflict and battle. Things were better but unstable, and there was little love between monsterkind and the humans that settled on the land they stole away from them during the war. It was better to stay within the kingdom. Safer, both for herself, and her unborn child.

Being restricted in her wandering did not impact her enjoyment, however. With a hand on her belly and on a smile on her face, she’d walk through snow and rain and sweltering heat while whispering wishes for her gods to hear. 

To Lady Life, she requested a flawless pregnancy and child in good health. To The Lord of The Skies, she asked for a cloudless stretch of blue over their Underground so that sunlight would shine through the cracks of their mountain roof and touch the face of her little one. She made requests to every deity she knew of and followed each plea up with a story for her child, though she knew they couldn’t yet hear. Still, she did this every time she walked, cycling through deities until there was only one left to offer her words to: Death.

_ “I… dare not ask for your absence, Lord Death. For all you frighten me, you are…  _ more  _ than me; a god with great abilities that bring great suffering onto others. I will not turn you away should they interest you, but… but I beg of you, Lord Death, turn your gaze upon my child if you wish, but not your touch. One day, they will be yours to take, this I know. I only ask that day not be now, or anytime soon. Blessings, Lord Death, and… and my thanks should you honor my prayers.” _

Out of all her pleas to the deities she worshiped, this one always left her… not quite unnerved, but off-balanced. She gave her prayers to Death in the cold of Snowdin Forest where ice swept away all life in the soil and only snow decorated the branches of trees. The chill and mass of untouched white always made her feel so alone, yet when she prayed to Death…

Sometimes, she swore there was a presence near. A phantom or a god, she didn’t know, but neither ever answered her when she called out to the presence, and it always vanished once she left the cold. Maybe she should have worried over it more. Maybe her visits ought to have come to an end. Maybes were useless though, and she did neither.

For months, she continued with her trips while Gaster carried on with his research and scientific based coddling. By the time her due date neared, both felt confident about the birth of their child and believed themselves well prepared for raising a little skeleton they did not know the gender of. Gaster had his knowledge of magic and science, she had her faith, and together they had both.

Then came the birth, and when their child made his way into the world, it became quite clear that, for all their passion for the subjects, neither science, faith, nor a mixture of the two was enough to prepare them for the little bundle of blankets and bones they called Sans; their son.

Their poor, fragile son who entered the world with a soul that had no yearning for life; no hope to survive his abysmal health.

“Oh Sans…” she whispered, voice thick with sorrow and eyes wet with tears as she cradled the small form in her arms. “Where did we go wrong, little one? Who did I anger so terribly for the gods to turn their wrath your way?”

Around them, the doctors and midwives turned away to give the small family of three their privacy. And yet, their turned backs did little to quiet the whispers shared between the staff. One sentence in particular almost seemed to echo with how sharply it struck her heart.

“What a tragedy it is to be born with death as your fate.”

Unseen by all, a figure draped in shadow hovered on the windowsill, head tilted as they gazed upon the peaceful expression of the slumbering child. At the words spoken by a nurse, they chuckled.

A smile was all that their hood did not obscure. 


	2. Act 1, Scene 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tiny Sans gets a story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TK, because I can.

Although the health and stats Sans is born with are both abysmal, there is still hope to be had for his survival. Concern and fear from their initial reaction to their son’s condition makes it difficult for that hope to settle in, but it does. Eventually, if not fleetingly. 

The thing is, the stats of monsters are prone to improvement, especially when it comes to newborns, children, and adolescents. Growth brings along change after all, and young, fragile bodies would strengthen while magic increased. Not always by much, but growth still took place and the stats of a monster reflected that. By all accounts, even Sans’ poor condition should see improvement as he grows, and with it, his health. 

And yet, nothing changes. By six months, Sans is still small and frail. By a year, not much has changed. Two, three, four… Sans ages, but his stats never grow even as tiny bones get a little thicker and Sans comes to stand a little taller. Not as tall as he ought to be, but still… taller. A little more grown.  _ Alive,  _ at the very least, even if simply surviving isn’t much of a life at all.

“Mama?” Sans calls out, voice hoarse and broken apart by wheezing breaths. When she looks up, she finds him wavering in the doorway, cheeks flushed with ill magic and sweat glistening upon his little brow. Still sick then, it seems. “Can you tell me stories…?” 

_ Sans, you shouldn’t be out of bed,  _ the words linger on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows them down like bitter medicine taken with a smile akin to a grimace. “Can’t sleep, sweetling?” She questions instead, waving him over to join her on the sofa. 

Small for five, Sans struggles to climb onto the cushions. Offering help will only discourage him, so she waits with worry weighing her soul until Sans, panting and wheezing, turns to her with raised arms and a miserable expression. “Help, mama?” he rasps.

“Of course, honey.” As she speaks, she tries not to let the relief she feels show. Sans is at the age where he seeks independence in small forms but allowing him that freedom is… difficult. Nerve-wracking, as so many things concerning her son are. Still, she tries. Trying doesn’t necessarily mean success, but the effort counts for something, she hopes. “Here, Sansy, let me just…”

_ ‘Stars, he’s still so light…’  _ but she could worry about things such as bone density and weight later. For now, she settled her son on her lap and got him situated comfortably; facing her with his little skull resting on her chest as she rubbed his back with a hand coated in green. Healing magic. “Comfortable, love?”

“Uh-huh…” Sans mumbled, sockets sliding shut as he snuggled close. “M’chest hurts though, Mama…” That would be the soul sickness he caught. 

“I know, Sansy…” Medicine helped, but healing took time. “Is it keeping you up, honey?” A nod. “Is that why you wanted a story then? To help you rest?”

Sniffling, Sans nodded. “Yeah…”

She so often felt helpless when it came to raising her son. This though? This was something she could do for him easily. “And what story would you like to hear this time, my little love?” 

Sans is proving to have his father’s intelligence, but he is not Gaster’s son alone. No, this bright young man is  _ their  _ child, and there is no hesitation as he lifts his fuzzy gaze with a demand of, “Tell me ‘bout the gods again, Mama.” 

There’s a hint of smugness in her smile.  _ ‘Ha,’  _ she thinks victoriously, eager to see her husband later that night to gloat.  _ ‘Our Sans asked for  _ my  _ stories again today.’  _ Already, she knows that Gaster will hide a pout at the defeat and take the morning off to read their child equations from his messy notes. “Which god, sweetling?” 

“All of ‘em?”

Her brow raises. “All of them, you say? Well now, that’s a rather tall order from such a short skeleton,” she teases, smile unflinching in the face of all the fears that present themselves as traitorous thoughts.  _ ‘Too small, too light… Will he ever grow? Will he live long enough to get the chance to do so?’ _

As anticipated, Sans scowls at the jab. “I’m getting taller, Mama!”

He wasn’t. Not since his fourth birthday now. “Ah, my apologies then, love. I must have been too distracted by your handsome little face to notice.” Playfully, she pinched a youthful cheek, chuckling as surprisingly malleable bone squished lightly at her touch. “To make it up to you, I’ll let you choose the  _ story  _ you hear.”

Although his head felt odd from illness, Sans didn’t miss his mother’s emphasis in the sentence and pouted, well aware that he’d only hear one tale for tonight. “Aww…”

She grinned. “Well…?” she pushed, inwardly wondering what tale her son would request from her tonight. Sans had a fondness for the legends of those associated with the stars, but he was a curious child and wasn’t afraid to let his interest stray. “Lady Life today, perhaps?”

A light entered her child’s eyes. “Oh—!” the little gasp lost Sans time, his body rebelling against the too-sharp intake of air with a series of coughs harsh enough to leave the poor thing rattling in her arms. “Want… w-want…” Sans wheezed, “...D-Death…?”

_ I want Death. _

How often did Sans request this tale? That question and others spiraled together as a whirlwind of thought within her skull, though none were as prevalent as this one: How long would it take for her racing heart to calm this time after witnessing her sickly son plead for Death?

Oh, she knew very well that Sans had little awareness of the fright the question caused. In his young mind, Death was but a story, a god. Still, the plea always left her feeling shaken. There were those who suffered so greatly that they begged for  _ death,  _ she knew. If he never improved, would Sans become one such unfortunate soul?

Viciously, she stomped the thought down. “A tale about Lord Death…? Ah yes, there’s quite a few of those that you have yet to hear.” Most were too cruel for a child’s ears. Not that Sans had any. “Very well then, Sansy. You’ll get your story about Lord Death tonight, but beware,” her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper, “for speaking of the gods draws their interest, little one, and calling their names may very invoke their presence. Are you daring enough to brave the attention of Lord Death?”

Sans’ smile was weak, but excited. He failed to notice the shadowed look in his mother’s eyes as she asked her question, the expression different than the ones she wore when leading into tales about the other deities of her religion. “M’not scared of him, Mama!”

_ ‘I wish you were.’  _ Little children rarely ran towards that which they feared. “So you dare invite his gaze to fall upon you, little one?”

Here, Sans hesitated. “...Bathroom?”

It took a moment, but once pieced together the question made her laugh. “No, love, the gods won’t watch you while you’re in the restroom. Your dignity will remain intact.”

Relieved, the little skeleton smiled once more. “M’kay then!”

“Well then, there’s only one more thing to ask, darling.” Leaning down, she brushed her smile over his heated forehead and whispered, “Are you ready to call upon the gods with this tale? To call Lord Death to your side?”

Sans coughed, and when he smiled, his teeth were tinted blue. Magic.

_ Marrow. _

This, like many terrible things, was normal.  _ Their  _ normal.

“Ready, Mama!” he rasped.

* * *

_ “...Angered by the absurdity of the mortal’s claim that he, a god, would fall victim to something as petty as bias, Lord Death took up his scythe in hand and swung it twice. Once, to steal the soul of the mortal king’s daughter, then again to ferry away the life of the peasant man’s son. _

_ ‘Still your tears, mortals,’ he said, voice as frigid as the cool air of Winter. ‘Cease all crying and begging, for there is a lesson here to be taught and I, Lord Death, stand as your gracious teacher.’ _

_ ‘Murder!’ cried the king. _

_ ‘Life-thief!’ wailed the peasant. _

_ ‘Fiend!’ they shouted as one. _

_ Lord Death merely chuckled, ‘Yes, yes… I am all these things, and more. And yet, there are also many things I am not, and biased? That is one. After all…’ he straightened his back, stance proud as he watched the blubbering mortals with satisfaction in his gaze. ‘Did my blade not fail to distinguish between princess and peasant? Was it not both lives I reaped? You, peasant man, dared to claim I would still my blade for a king, but I did not, for Death cares not for status. Kings, servants, mortals and gods alike… I come for all, in the end, and one day…’ _

_ Lord Death leaned forward with a wicked grin. _

_ ‘...I’ll come for the two of  _ you.’”

“Will… will he… come for me too, Mama?” Sans whispered, sockets shut as he dozed against her chest.

She hoped he couldn’t hear the stutter of her heart. “...Not for many, many,  _ many  _ years, my dear.” Gods, how she hoped that was the case.

Sans hummed in understanding, sleepy. “Will it… be scary…? When he comes?”

“Scary…?” Discreetly, she checked his stats. Good, no decimals. “Do you feel afraid when you think of Lord Death now, love?”

A moment passed, then another few as the silence stretched. She would have thought Sans asleep if she didn’t know her son. “No,” he said, raspy voice full of surety. “M’not afraid of him, mama.”

_ ‘You should be, Sans.’  _ “Oh?”

“Death-”

“Lord Death, darling.”

“M’lord Death… he sounds scary, but… but so does Papa, right? Lotsa people get scared cause Papa has a scary face, you said. And… and Mr. Asgore scares the humans, right? But Papa is nice, and Mr. Asgore tells funny jokes, so they’re not spooky. Not like others th… t-thin…”

“Pace yourself, Sansy,” she soothed, gently pushing him back to rub at his little sternum soothingly. “Give your throat a break. Mama will wait patiently to hear your words.”

Breath catching on a wheeze with every exhale, Sans whimpered. “Papa and M-Mr. Asgore aren’t scary, mama,” he managed after a few minutes. “So… Lord Death probably isn’t too, yeah? I bet he just looks spooky, b-but he’s nice.” A pause. “Do you think he likes jokes and puns?”

She chuckled. Unknowingly, she was not alone in her laughter.

“Perhaps he does, little love,” she murmured, standing with Sans in her arms. “Anyhow, it’s time for another attempt at bed. Try your hardest to rest this time, Sansy.”

“Aw… okay…” he mumbled, displeased. Still, he kept his complaints to himself as his mother tucked him into bed with a kiss to the head, then left. The door shut behind her, and he let his eyes shut once again as sleep called. “Mmm…”

_ Knock, knock… _

Nearly asleep, he giggled tiredly, “Who’s there…?”

_ “Echo…” _

“Echo who…?” he mumbled, grinning.

_ “Echo who… Echo who… Echo who…” _

Sans’ laughter was faint as he drifted off, swept away by his dreams much too quickly to realize that the answering voice wasn’t one he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like young Geno? Well, I hope so because we may be seeing him for a while.
> 
> As of now, I only have one other chapter ready to go, so don't get used to weekly updates! That being said, I'll do my best to produce content in a timely manner so that you're not waiting _too_ long for future chapters.


	3. Act 1, Scene 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans may be pretty smart for his age, but some things still go over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TK, because why not?

A bright child, it doesn’t take Sans much longer to realize that his situation is abnormal. 

None of the other children are told not to run in order to save their breath, lest they find themselves running short on air. From what he observed, other mothers don’t hover nervously with every stumble or stroke their children’s heads to check for temperature under the guise of a loving touch. And other fathers certainly don’t glance over the STATs of their children before swooping in with an embrace that always felt more like a cling, as if his father couldn’t bare to let him go.

Now seven, almost eight, he sits on the cool, paper-covered table he’s come to know so well throughout the last few years and watches as a team of scientists flutters around the room. Most are biologist or magic theorist, but he knows that Dr. Bredman is a medical specialist; in pediatrics no less. A curious soul with a knack for reading and asking questions, Sans is well aware of what all those fields of practice are. Through experience, he knows how they relate to him. 

See, Sans is sick. Kinda. Just like all the rules and the behaviors of his mother and father weren’t normal, neither was Sans himself. Some of the terms still went over his head, but he knew enough from his books to understand that he had an issue with coming up short. Height wise, and in regards to healthy STATs. Overall, his health just wasn’t what a  _ normal  _ skeleton’s should be and that right there was what made everyone act so weirdly around him.

No one wanted to be responsible for breaking the son of the Royal Scientist. And Sans was very, very easy to break. At least, that’s what everyone always assumed.

“Remarkable…” One of the scientist—Dr. Al—breathed, glancing at Sans with a look of awed disbelief before returning to stare up at his father. “He fell from such a height and all he ended up with was a sprained ankle? That’s… Stars above, Gaster, that’s practically a miracle!”

At the mention of his fall, Sans grimace. His ankle, though healed, was already starting to throb at the memory of his poor landing. Being carried around afterwards was kind of nice though, even if it did make him feel like a baby sometimes. Then again, what did that matter when it meant he got a free ride? Still, he could have done without the worried-fueled scolding he received once he was all healed up. 

It wasn’t  _ his  _ fault that all the good books were up so high! ...Even if it  _ was  _ maybe his own fault that he and he alone decided to climb for it rather than ask for help. Heh, and he still got that book in the end. 

“A miracle?” his father mused, worn. “Perhaps. At the time, it was more of a fright than anything else, but Sans is safe. Somehow, he’s safe.”

“And his Hp…?”

“You’ve all seen the reports, and the numbers. Barely a sliver of a decimal was shaved off his overall Hp.” After a pause filled with quiet murmurs, Gaster spoke again. His voice was so low that Sans had to strain just to continue his eavesdropping. “...I think it’s thanks to…  _ that.” _

“You mean-”

“Yes. Only the smallest of samples have proven successful on the monsters in our trials, but Sans has been exposed to the substance since his birth.”

Dr. Funnypaws, which was what Sans called her, huffed from where she was busy reading over his charts. For as long as he could remember, she was the monster that acted as his primary doctor. He didn’t necessarily  _ like  _ going to visit her, but she told really good jokes and always had a puzzle for him to play with during his examinations. 

“Ah yes, the injections that your wife still remains unaware of,” she grumbled, never once looking up from her work. “Tch, it’s not like she’s the mother of your child, or anything. It’s perfectly acceptable to keep her out of the loop.”

His father sighed, “This again?”

“Oh no, just go ahead and ignore me, Dr. Gaster. I’m just talking to myself. No need to pay attention to me, or listen. Heh, you’re  _ very  _ good at that last thing.”

“You can frown upon my morals all you want, Doctor, but even you can’t deny the results we’ve been shown. That fall should have killed-” Gaster froze, hands trembling before he curled them into fist to hide their unsteadiness. “...The DETERMINATION has been successful in maintaining my son’s quality of life. Given recent events, I want to start developing a new series of injections. Firstly, we’ll increase the amount of DE-”

“Sans,” Dr. Funnypaws began, turning to him with a smile that somehow seemed odd. Her smiles were usually warm, and kind. They crinkled her furry face pleasantly and made her eyes shine, but now? It was… stiff. “Why don’t you head into the office I have here, hm? There’s a bowl of candy in one of the desk drawers if you’re interested.”

“Doct-”

“Go on now,” she urged, still smiling that odd, frozen smile. “And… remember your father’s rule, okay?”

‘Never share the secrets of the lab.’ Even with mom.

Catching the glance Sans tosses at him for permission, Gaster sighed, then nodded. “...Go on, Sans. Don’t have too many candies though. Your mother is waiting for us with dinner.”

Grinning, Sans nodded with an eager, “Okay!” before accepting some help off the table and walking away. He tried to run, but a warning from his father had him slowing down with a huff as he made his way out of the lab.

“Dr. Gaster,” he heard as he left, “are you  _ insane?!  _ You want to save his life by  _ putting it at risk?!  _ Of all the-” 

He couldn’t say for sure, but Sans was almost certain that other kids didn’t have doctor’s who yelled at their father’s as much as Dr. Funnypaws did. 

“Sans hasn’t showcased any of the symptoms of-”

“And increasing the dosage of the injections could actively change that! We’ve had drastic failures with  _ adults,  _ Gaster! Monsters three, four times the height and weight of Sans! And yet you want to actively push your son further into harm’s way by injecting him with  _ more  _ of that damn…  _ poison!”  _

His brows furrowed. Poison…? Poisons were bad, weren’t they? It wasn’t a topic he knew much about, he would have to change that, but… he knew what food poisoning was! He suffered through a full week of food poisoning once and that definitely wasn’t pleasant.

“Poison? Come now, Doctor. DETERMINATION can be volatile but-”

“It’s a  _ human  _ property! DT isn’t natural to our kind and we’ve proven time and time again that it refuses to incorporate with our systems! We have data to go along with this proof, Gaster!  _ Data!  _ And Sans is not the majority when it comes to our numbers, but the outlier! The miracle of survival is wonderful, but whatever luck he has keeping him alive could very well run out if we shoot him up with  _ more  _ of the damn stuff! This-” Dr. Funnypaws stopped, though Sans didn’t know why. He was still trying to process most of what she said. “...Gaster, I understand your fear, but this isn’t the way. Teach him how to dodge, or defend, or to be cautious at the very least. Teach him to  _ survive.” _

“I want Sans to  _ live,  _ Doctor, not merely survive.”

“At this rate, Sans will do  _ neither.  _ Every injection brings him a step closer to Death’s door. And that’s with the amount we’re giving him  _ now.  _ If you increase the dosage, then he’s going to die, Gaster. And if you won’t make the decision to prevent that, then I will.”

“...I see.”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but… someone needs to look out for this child. And if it isn’t going to be you, then- what are you doing? Gaster?  _ G-Gast—!” _

Cool, skeletal hands gently slid over the sides of his skull, right where Sans’ perceived sound from, effectively cutting off the beginnings of a scream and the high pitched screech of a magical attack. Confused, Sans blinked. In that split second he had his sockets closed, something changed.

There was… sunlight.  _ Actual  _ unobstructed sunlight, not just the little beams that made it through the cracks of the mountain. And there was so much  _ blue!  _ The sky, Sans knew without a doubt. His mother told him enough stories that he was able to recognize it. Sometimes, she would pull out her favorite paintings of the sky at night and tell him tales about the stars, and the gods that lived beyond them.

But, if… if that was the sky and the sun, then… 

This wasn’t the labs.

“Hello, little skeleton.”

* * *

Later, no one will believe him when he tells them he met a god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, interesting little thing at the end there...


	4. Act 1, Scene 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Age Ten, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TK, because I can.

Sans is ten years old.

Upon awakening, he’s disappointed to realize that nothing seems to have changed. He crawls out of his low bed, undresses, and stands in front of the mirror in just his under-things, toes curling in the plush, padded flooring of his room. And yet nothing looks new, nor does he feel any older. No, everything simply looks and feels as it did the night before, when he crawled into bed and said goodnight to everyone as a young, little nine year old. But now he’s  _ ten.  _ He’s a whole decade!  _ Double-digits!  _ And yet… nothing. There’s absolutely nothing to show that he reached this amazing milestone.

Squinting, he peers even closer at the mirror. Scowls. “I didn’t even get taller…” he huffs, displeased with the realization that he’s as short as ever. “Paps is gonna be taller than me if I don’t hurry up and grow already.” Just to be absolutely sure that nothing happened, he tried to stand even straighter. Nothing. 

Eyelights dart around, ensuring his privacy before he expresses just how pleased he is with this situation. 

“Damnit.”

The door slammed open, revealing the tiny form of a perfectly healthy toddler. “BAH!” Papyrus screeched, toddling forward on unsteady feet. Only recently did he discover the magical experience that was  _ walking,  _ and yet the small thing was quickly becoming the master of his own feet.

Perhaps this should have angered Sans. Upset him. He himself hadn’t been allowed to attempt walking until he was well into his third year, and even then his parents hovered fearfully in a way they never did with Papyrus; ready to intervene should he have ever so much as wavered on his feet. Often, they still did this with—always watching over him, always hovering while Papyrus was allowed the freedom of exploration and independence that came with being born well.  _ Healthy. _ So yes, maybe seeing the younger skeleton toddle around without supervision yet all the faith to survive that Sans never had should have angered him. Upset him. No one would blame Sans if it did.

But in that moment, Sans is  _ proud. _ He’s a big brother after all, and every accomplishment Papyrus makes fills him with pride. His little brother is going to grow up to be the best, he just knows it. 

“Paps? What’re you doing in here?” he questions, kneeling down and spreading his arms wide. “Aw, didja come to wish me a happy birthday?”

“SNAHS!” Wavering where he stood, the little bundle of smiles and bones paused, expression scrunched. Then, he slowly put a foot forward, his own small arms reaching for his favorite sibling—his only sibling, actually. “SNAHS!  _ SNAHS, SNAHS, SNA-!” _

Sans was there to catch Papyrus when he fell forward, right into the older child’s arms. 

“Careful there, pal. Just ‘cause you’re made of tougher stuff than me doesn’t mean ya getta go runnin’ around puttin’ yourself in danger, kay?” Carefully, he repositioned his hands in order to lift the toddler up, settling Papyrus on his hip much like his parents did whenever they carried the youngest member of their family around.  _ Youngests _ , actually, because Sans was often still carried as well due to his height—ten now, yet still the size of a child that could  _ maybe  _ pass for eight...if he stood on his toes. “C’mon, Paps. Lets get some grub, okay?”

“NO!”

Sans paused, blinking. “Aw, aintcha hungry, bro?”

“NO!”

“...Not even a bit? Not even for  _ spaghetti?” _

Scowling, the two year old lashed out, smacking Sans right in the forehead with a screeched mantra of “NO, NO,  _ NO!”  _

Where another may have grown irritated at the younger child’s behavior, Sans found himself grinning; pleased. 

Only Paps ever treated him like he was  _ normal.  _

“Heh, I think I  _ no  _ whatcha want, little buddy.” Snickering at his own pun, the eldest of the two children gave his little brother a bounce before heading back towards his bed, eyes on the small bookshelf he often used as a makeshift bedside table. Reading over the titles, he eventually settled for a drawing pad that looked so out of place among all the academic material snatched from his father’s personal office. “This, right?” he asked, taking a seat on his bed with Papyrus settled on his lap, arms around the little guy. “You came for a story?”

Papyrus’ joyful screech of “STORE” was all the answer he needed.

Grinning, Sans flipped the sketchbook open to reveal words in place of drawings. His own personal stories, all based off of the tales told to him by his special friend. “Whatcha wanna hear today, Paps? Oh! Oh, how’s about the new one I wrote? I think you’ll like it!” Not that Papyrus ever  _ disliked  _ any of his stories. His little brother had the best taste, after all. Probably because anything associated with his brother was automatically the coolest. “Well?”

“STORE!” Papyrus cried, whacking his brother in the face by accident this time. Ouch, that was a strong one, and yet not even a sliver of hp was lost. If it wasn’t for his abysmal health and hp, Sans might have said he was getting sturdier; living instead of surviving. “STORE, SNAHS! STORE!”

“Okay, babybones. Hold onto your diaper, because you gotta-” Sans glanced around, “...a  _ hell  _ of a story in  _ store  _ for ya, heh. Ready?”

“FATTER!”

“Hey! I’m just… just  _ short.  _ It makes me look big-boned, I know, but-”

Kicking his legs out, Papyrus shrieked, “FATTER!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll get to the story faster, little guy. Here, lemme just…” Clearing his throat, Sans held Papyrus a little closer to himself to stop his squirming as he began to recite the words scrawled across the page. “...Before there was Death, there was Life…”

* * *

Their mother finds them sometime later, now seated on the plush flooring of Sans’ room so that Papyrus can roam while his older brother lays on his stomach, sockets narrowed down at his book and grin stained with ink from chewing on his pen.

“Okay, how’s this, bro? ‘Once upon a time—’”

A tiny foot landed on a stray sock and Papyrus screeched as he slid forward, little arms waving wildly yet his efforts of balancing himself proving futile when he landed on his tush. “SNAHS!”

“Yeah, I feel that. Kinda overdone by now, huh? Okay, how about this instead? ‘In a land far, far away—’”

Shrieking when he tried to push himself up just to slide again when his hand landed on another misplaced sock, Papyrus called for his brother again, shouting, “SNAHS!”

“Still a no? Yeesh, tough crowd. Uhh… what about… huh, I got nothing. I dunno, maybe I should work on the start later? I really wanna get this idea down before I forget it, but-” A sock interrupted whatever he had to say, balled up by a tiny hand and pelted at him by a toddler fueled by rage.

“SNAHS!” Papyrus screeched, tossing the other sock at his brother as well and missing the skeleton by a mile. “SNAHS! SNAHS-” Filled with far too much frustration for someone so small, the little guy flailed his arms and kicked out his legs, tears filling empty sockets that flashed with bursts of orange. “SNAHS!” he wailed, thumping his hands on the floor with a shriek. “SNAHS! SNAHS! SN… SNAHS…”

Sans scrambled to his feet, stepping forward. “Aw, I got- mom!”

“I think it’s just about time that I stepped in,” their mother said, the words crooned sweetly as he bent to lift her wailing youngest into her arms. “Now, now, littlest one, there’s no need to cry. Mama’s here, my youngest darling.”

“SNAHS!” Papyrus cried, displeased.

Squirming at the sight of his little brother looking so upset, Sans absentmindedly tossed the sock he was holding over his shoulder and stepped up to his mother, arms raised. “I can hold him, Mom.”

A gentle smile turned hesitant. “...Sans, your brother is upset at the moment.” As if to prove her point, Papyrus began striking out with angry war cries that came out as sobs. “We wouldn’t want him to hurt you, would he?”

“But he wants  _ me,  _ mom! And… and he’s just a baby! Even if he tried to attack, it’s not like any of his hits are strong!  _ He’s just a baby!”  _ Sans repeated, scowling. “No one is super powerful before they’re outta diapers.”

“Perhaps,” their mother murmured, “but in your case, Papyrus is strong  _ enough,  _ Sans—powerful  _ enough  _ that even these little fits of his could…” she trailed off, gaze averted.

“Kill me?” he supplied, bitterness evident in his harsh tone. “Didja know that falling wrong can kill ya? That swimming can kill ya? Do… do you know that  _ anything  _ can kill you if it goes wrong, but that… that no one ever just stays at home all day, doing nothing but reading and writing about other people having fun  _ because they’re not allowed to do anything?!”  _

“Sans-”

“I’m ten!” Sans cried, because he may have not looked or felt any different than he did when he was nine, but it was  _ true.  _ He was ten now, and that was years older than anyone ever expected him to make it to. “I’m ten now, but everyone treats me like I’m younger than Paps! And you know what? It’s fine! I’m used to it! But… but if I’m gonna live my life wrapped up in a bubble forever, then I should at least be able to-” he hesitated, but anger got the best of him and, with a growl, Sans stomped his foot on the floor and cried, “I should be able to at least hold my own damn brother when  _ I’m  _ the one he fucking wants!”

“Sans! Where did you learn-”

“I should be able to hold Paps,” Sans interrupted, trying to get his point through before the tears starting to fill his eyes clogged his throat. “Because if I’m gonna die today or tomorrow or… or  _ whenever,  _ then I want my baby brother to at least remember how being carried by me feels. I want Paps to… to…” Gritting his teeth, the eldest of the two children swiped his hand over his eyes. “...He wants me…” is all he added, not knowing what else there was to say that would make his mother not merely listen, but  _ understand.  _

_ ‘Only  _ he  _ ever actually hears what I have to say…’  _ but his friend’s visits were few and far between. Gods were busy folk, apparently.

“Sans…”

“I carry Paps all the time when you and dad aren’t around,” he admitted, knowing that his parents had their suspicions. “I carry him and we play together and, yeah, sometimes he gets fussy and gives me a good smack, but…  _ but I’m still here, mom.  _ So…  _ please.  _ Let me just hold him.”

_ Let me live instead of forcing me to survive.  _

For a long moment, his mother was silent as she watched him, taking in the desperation within her older son’s gaze as she absently attempted to soothed Papyrus’ fit. “...Sans...” she began with after what felt like ages, slowly lowering herself down to the floor with her weepy toddler in her arms. “Sans,” she tried again, working against her own terror. Her reluctance. “Would you like to go outside today, beyond the limits of the kingdom?”

Tearful sockets went wide. “To… to the forest you always talk about…? The one you danced in when you prayed to Lady Life so that you could make Paps?”

“And you,” his mother added. “I… yes, to that very same forest. Would you like to go today? To celebrate your birthday beneath the sky? I know you’ve always wished to see it.”

He already had, but no one ever believed him when he told those tales. “Y…” choked up with emotion, it took Sans a few tries to get a small, hopeful agreement out, but he managed. “Yes,” he breathed, “I… yes, I want to go to the forest for my birthday!  _ Please!” _

Trying for a smile, his mother nodded. “Very well. In that case, I’ll prepare us a picnic. While I do that, dress…”

Slowly, she pressed Papyrus into his hold.

“...and watch over your brother.”

Sans grinned.

* * *

Sans is ten years old.

For quite some time, he’ll wish that he never grew past nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi TK:)


	5. Act 1, Scene 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we continue with Sans' birthday,

Sans is ten years old when Destiny makes an exchange in his name.

Hand in his mother’s, he holds his head high as they make their way through the Underground Kingdom's capital, trying his best not to show just how unnerved he feels as various sets of curious eyes turn their way. “Why are they staring…?” he whispers, not unused to this level of attention, but made wary by the _judgement_ in their gazes. Usually, he’s just looked at with pity, not scorn.

_ ‘Poor little skeleton, born fated to die,’  _ most tend to think when they see him.

Tch, as if they had to rub it in his face. Oh,  _ his face.  _ Maybe he…?

Trying to be discreet, he wiped his sleeve across his face under the guise of scratching his cheek and glanced down at the draping material. Nothing, so he didn’t have the ketchup he ate his breakfast with smeared around his mouth. That was… good?

A chuckle drew his attention to his mother who turned her smile from the toddler swaddled against her chest to her eldest. “Don’t mind the others, Sans. They’re just a little displeased with our clothing is all.”

Their clothes…?

Curious, he dropped his gaze to the sleeve he used to wipe his face with just a few seconds ago, eyeing the long, flowing white cloth he wore and the way the material hid his hands. The rest of the robe wasn’t all that different, dragging slightly behind him as he walked and dirtying the hem. Overall, it was long and loose and… kind of really comfortable. “What’s wrong with our clothes?” he couldn’t say he preferred the robe over his usual clothing, but it wasn’t uncomfortable by any means. Just… different. New.

“Well, I’m afraid that comes down to opinion, sweetling. Personally, I don’t believe that there’s a single thing wrong with our clothing, but the other residents of the kingdom see it differently, I’m afraid. Do you recall the robes worn by Our Lady, Queen Toriel?”

“Mrs. Tori, you mean? Yeah, I remember them. I thought it was just a dress though?” As he spoke, a small blush warmed Sans’ cheeks.  _ ‘She looked really pretty in it.’ _

“Not quite. Although robes and gowns can be similar, what Queen Toriel wore when we met with her were the ceremonial robes of the Royal House, marking her as Queen of the Underground Kingdom. At first glance, those robes may not look too different from those worn but humans, but they are. Not only are they purely monster made, but they’re imbued with magic and crafted with  _ intent.” _

“You can put intent in clothes?” Sans questioned, glancing around them curiously and squinting down at his own robes. “How do you do that? And what does it do?”

“Many things, depending on the seamstress. Unfortunately, it’s quite the difficult skill to learn as one needs great magic to weave intent into lifeless thread, and  _ patience.”  _ Upon speaking that last word, his mother squeezed Sans’ hand with a loving smile. She often called Sans her little patience due to the cyan hue of his soul. “Robes and this form of craft are near exclusive to the royal family, though there’s no rules preventing others from wearing them. Still, most avoid the clothing out of respect, so that’s one of the reasons why so many seem miffed with us now.”

“Only one of the reasons…? What’s the other, mom? Is it because they’re white? Is that a bad color? Oh, but yours is green and yellow  _ and  _ white…”

His mother hummed, acknowledging his words as she thought over a response. “Well, the other reasons can be grouped together, really. They’re all a bit foolish as well, in my own opinion, that is.”

Curious, Sans tilted his head. Waited. “What is it…?” he pushed, pouting when his mother’s smile split to respond just for her to become distracted by speaking with the Riverperson. Huh, he didn’t even notice that they made it this far. “Mom, come on! Don’t leave me and Paps hanging!” 

“Just a moment, my little lov- oh yes, as close to the Kingdom’s border as you can get us, please.”

Sans shivered at the answering  _ “Tra-la-la”  _ from the Riverperson. That… definitely creeped him out. A little wary, he glanced up at his mother, settling for giving Papyrus a silent look of  _ ‘I’ll protect you’  _ when that sing-song voice sang that little tune out again.

Content for the moment, Papyrus continued to chew on the end of the red scarf keeping him tied to his mother, like a makeshift carrier. “NYEH...HEH…” he cackled, slobber darkening a portion of the fabric.

Heh, Sans loved his baby brother and all, but that was…  _ gross.  _

“Come now, Sans. Let me help you onto the boat.” Already on herself, his mother wrapped one arm around Papyrus to hold him close as she leaned forward and took up Sans hand. Slowly, she guided him onto the unsteady surface and instructed him to hold onto her tightly. Once he did so, she smiled. The pleasant expression did well to hide her nervousness over her frail son being so far from home…  _ and help.  _ “Now, where were we?”

“You were gonna tell us the other reason why people keep looking at us so funny!”

“Ah yes, well… the other reason is simple, if not silly.” Teasingly, she paused yet again to stir up his anticipation. 

“Mom!”

“Hm?”

_ “Mom!” _

Laughing, she continued. “The robes we’re wearing now are not of the monster variety, Sans. They are human made; crafted for the priest and priestess who worship the gods beyond the stars that monsterkind prefers to honor.”

After hearing that, Sans just couldn’t help himself. “Mom…  _ what the hell?!”  _ he demanded, though he was quick to shrink beneath his mother’s disapproving gaze. “...Uh, I’m sorry?”

“Sans Serif Gaster, that is the  _ third  _ time you have sworn at me this day. Where did you learn such foul language? And what in the world makes you believe that it’s okay for a little one such as yourself to swear? You may be ten, but you have many more years to go before you are grown, young one.” Oh how she hoped he would survive them all.

“...Dad said a lot of curses when he spilled his latest experiment on his lunch…” Mentally, Sans apologized to his father. He loved and idolized him, but there was no denying the fact that his mom was scarier when she was upset. “They sounded cool…” mostly because he  _ knew  _ he wasn’t supposed to say them, which was why Sans was usually so careful to utter the curses when he was absolutely sure he was alone. “I… won’t say them again?”

“BAH!” Papyrus screeched, amused when the boat came to a sudden stop, jerking them all forward slightly. “GIN! AH-GIN!

“We’ll ride the boat again when we return, my darling,” their mother promised the toddler, giving the eldest of the two children a look that ensured Sans knew they would be continuing this discussion later. “Come, Sansy. I’ll help you out and then we’ll continue on our way. We still have quite a bit to go however, so inform me if you grow tired, or if your chest begins to burn. I brought your medicine, just in case.”

Liquid determination fitted into an inhaler, Sans knew. His mother was left unaware of this fact, but he was sworn to secrecy due to the many promises made with his father. “I know, mom. The rules never change when we go out.” At least, they hadn’t the few times Sans was allowed to venture outside of their home. “Lets just hurry and go! Please? I wanna see the forest you talk about so much  _ before  _ I’m eleven!”

_ If I even make it another year,  _ went unsaid. 

“So,” Sans continued in order to clear the tension between them, “How come we’re wearing  _ human  _ clothes, mom? I mean, humans… they’re-”

“Bad? Evil?” At his nod, his mother sighed, bidding the Riverperson farewell as she lead her children away. “History cannot be unwritten, but the actions of a few foul humans shouldn’t go on to label the lot of them, Sans. The war that took place, the remaining tension… all of it will be for naught if we don’t learn to move on from our hatred. Our prejudices. Besides...” magic lit her sockets, lifting the hem of Sans’ robe slightly as they stepped over a puddle. “Even if all humans  _ were  _ evil, that wouldn’t mean that their clothing was too. Cloth is merely cloth, Sans, and where it originates from shouldn’t determine how we dress ourselves.”

“I dunno mom… can’t we just wear the monster kind? People would like that better, wouldn’t they?”

“We could and they would, but why should we, sweetling? You and I? We worship the gods, my little love, and these robes show that. I, as a priestess of Lady Life, am proud to drape myself in her colors, as I hope you will be one day when you choose one of the Great Ones as your own primary worship. Until then, you and your brother will wear white. White  _ human  _ robes, because clothing is merely clothing at the end of the day.”

“I… I get to choose  _ a god?”  _ Sans asked, stuck on that little fact. He didn’t know that! “Is that allowed? Choosing? I thought the gods didn’t like being pitted against each other?”

“Choosing a god to call your own doesn’t mean we abandon the worship of the others, Sansys. It’s merely… Hm, how should I put this? It’s… a calling, almost. One day, you’ll offer your thanks to the beings beyond the stars and you’ll feel a tug, or a tickle, or… or  _ something,  _ and you’ll think, ‘Ah, this is the god who calls to me, just as I call to them.’ For me, that pull was felt towards Lady Life, and so I adorn myself in greens and yellows and white—all the colors used to worship her creation.”

Mulling over this new information, Sans frowned; thoughtful. “Can I choose my god now, mom?”

“Remember your soul trait, little patience. You’re not yet a priest of the gods, so you’ll have to wait quite a few more years before you chance hearing your deity’s call.”

“But I already know who it’s gonna be, mom! It’s my friend! It has to be!” Certain that he was correct, Sans stared down at his robe and tried to imagine black dye tainting the innocent color, like ink spilt onto the whitest paper. His friend’s robe was the darkest of blacks, and he just knew that his own would be the same. “I’m going to be Lord Death’s priest!”

His mother’s foot came down on a fallen branch hard, snapping it. With a start, Sans realized that they weren’t surrounded by mountains, but were instead out in the open. All around them, there was forest. And above…

He smiled when he raised his gaze to see the sun.  _ ‘It’s… it’s still so bright… so beautiful…’  _ he thought, warmth filling his chest as if the golden light falling upon his face seeped in to embrace his soul.

His mother’s words replaced that warmth with ice. “You can’t be a follower of Lord Death, Sans. It isn’t possible.”

Smile replaced by a scowl, he crossed his arms. “Why not? He- he’s my friend, mom. He  _ chose  _ to be my friend, and I decided to be his too! We already picked each other!”

“Again with-” sighing, the only adult of the little trio crouched. Papyrus tried to squirm out of her hold and onto the forest floor, but she didn’t let him get far. “Sans, I… know you were very upset that your doctor was involved in such an unfortunate accident, but… but you’re growing, Sans. It’s been years since that incident. You  _ have  _ to let your imaginary friend go.”

“He isn’t imaginary!” Sans insisted, crossing his arms and stomping his foot. A twig snapped under his own foot. “How come you won’t believe me? Father makes sense because he thinks the gods are just stories, but… but  _ you  _ believe in them, mom! You know they’re real, so why won’t you believe that I met one?!  _ I wouldn’t lie!” _

“Sansy-”

_ Snap. _

Mother and child froze. Neither of them were the cause of  _ that  _ noise.

“Sans, behind me.” With that order, their mother pressed Papyrus into his hold and stood, turning around as she shifted to stand before him. “Where are you, stranger? It’s rather rude to listen in on another’s conversation, don’t you know? You ought to introduce yourself after such a disservice.” 

_ Snap. _

“Mom!” Sans hissed, panicked. “Mom, there’s a-”

She whirled around, just fast enough to spot the glint of metal catching the light and the burning hatred in crimson eyes… but not  _ fast enough. _

_ -99999999999999999999999999999999 _

“M...mom…?” Sans choked, Papyrus whining when his brother held him far too tightly. “Ma…” slowly, he reached out. His hand was trembling. “...Mama…?  _ Mommy?” _ the wind carried his small whisper forward…

...and blew his mother into dust.

* * *

Sans is ten years old when Destiny makes an exchange in his name.

It’ll take many more years before he realizes just what his mother’s life was traded for.


	6. Act 1, Scene 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sans thinks back to the day his mother died.

Whenever asked, Sans says that he doesn’t remember the day his mother died. Trauma, he claims, usually with a shrug and a bland, hollow smile. Sympathetic and disturbed, most leave it at that and carry on. That is, they run away with hurried steps and nervous grins, desperate to get as far from that dead stare and empty expression as they can. Then, they gossip. Oh, those of the Underground Kingdom _always_ gossip. Even now their whispers reached his ears, quiet yet oh so audible as the same wind toying with the long trails of his ebony robes carried muttered words closer.

“Look, there he is.”

“Don’t _point_ at him, you idiot!”

“Why? It’s not like he can see it. We’re on his right, yeah? I could flip him the bird and he’d never know!”

 _‘My hearing works just fine though,’_ Sans thought. For a moment, he thought about turning to the rude, nosey monster and saying just that. Ultimately, he decided against it though. He was already going to be lectured for leaving the house. The last thing he wanted was to be blamed for starting conflict with a buncha kids when there was already so much worry and strife going around. _‘Just enjoy your walk while you still can.’_

Sighing inwardly, he turned away from the monster-crafted fabrics he was eyeing and moved on. As he did so, the crowd around him split apart. It wasn’t a respectful action, however. No, it was merely fear born of superstition, for everyone knew that Sans Gaster was plagued by misfortune, and they had no desire for his terrible luck to spread throughout the kingdom anymore than it already had. If that meant avoiding even the slightest touch with him, then so be it.

“He’s just… walking around like it isn’t… _y’know._ The Anniversary.”

“Tch, he probably doesn’t care.”

“You think? I mean, it’s also the day his mom-”

“Again, he probably doesn’t even care! I mean, everyone knows that he doesn’t even remember, so it isn’t like he’s gonna be walkin’ around cryin’ or some shit like that. Nah, it’s probably just another day to him, even if it is The Anniversary, or _that_ anniversary. That little brat ruined all our lives and he’s just… _shopping!”_

“We’re shopping too, yeah?”

“Well, yeah, but _we_ didn’t start the war!”

The corner of his grin twitched, then lifted. Ducking his head to better hide his smirk, Sans kept walking. _‘Idiots…’_ he thought, trying to gain control of his expression. He didn’t mean to look so pleased with himself, but there weren’t many who would believe him if he told them it was an honest reaction formed from nerves, not satisfaction. _‘I didn’t start the stupid war.’_

His dad did. 

_“Tch, filthy fucking monster...” Crimson eyes glimmered in the sunlight. His thoughts felt distant and slow, but Sans found himself thinking that those eyes were… kind of pretty, like rubies or garnet or some other gem he didn’t know. The look in those eyes weren’t nice at all though, and he shook when they settled on him and Paps. “Pretty stupid of your mom to bring you two out here, kid. This is_ human _territory.”_

_‘Mom’s dead,’ Sans thought, looking away from those gleaming orbs to the dust at his feet. If he didn’t hurry and gather what he could, then the wind would carry it all away. He knew this, but he… he couldn’t move. Instead, all he did was stand around with tears dripping down his face. “You… killed mom.” He didn’t know why he was telling them that. Obviously, the human knew. “You killed mom..”_

_“Self preservation, kid. You see...” dust stained metal gleamed as the human stepped forward with their blade in hand. “I’m just a helpless human with a kitchen knife and two brats of my own to protect. She was a big, bad monster with magic. And she was_ bloodthirsty. _Why, I had no choice, yeah? She even attacked first! And now? I’m facing down two other murderous monsters! If I don’t defend myself right here, right now, then you kill_ me _and my brats.”_

_Numbly, Sans looked around. He didn’t see any kids. If he squinted though, he might have been able to make out a tent in the distance. Were there kids in that? If so, how old were they? As big as him, or as small as the baby brother whose face he was pressing into his neck with a trembling hand?_

_Then, he had a small realization. Most of what the human said was a big, fat lie. His mom didn’t attack first! And she- she wasn’t bad or bloodthirsty, or_ anything _this human was making her out to be! She was his_ mom _and she was—_

_Dead._

_‘Mom’s dead,” he thought again. This time, the thought seemed a little less distant, but Sans still felt… broken. He was supposed to cry a lot harder, wasn’t he? He was supposed to… to crumble in a buncha pieces just like his heart felt like it was doing and mourn. And yet, none of that was happening. He was still just standing there, listening._

_‘I don’t want to listen to this guy…’ more tears dripped from his sockets when he blinked. They made his eyes itch a bit, but he didn’t dare let go of his baby brother with a single arm just to rub the watery magic away. He had to keep Paps close, even if the little guy was starting to get squirmy. “You killed mom,” he repeated, stuck on those three little words. Sans was kinda worried that was all he was ever gonna be able to say for now on.. “You… you killed mom…” It was a bigger struggle than it should have been to tack on a simple “Why?”_

_The human had a nice smile to go with those pretty red eyes. It was a little unfair, Sans thought. Someone like that didn’t deserve to look so nice, like… like someone who smiled plenty and laughed even more. Oh, they were laughing_ right now, _actually. At him. “I told you why, kid.”_

_“Tell me the real reason.” A sprinkle of dust fell from their knife when they gave it a little twirl. More pieces of his mom lost to the wind. “You- tell me the real reason you killed my mom, d-damnit.”_

_“Ooo, the little skeleton knows how to swear. How scary.”_

_“You killed mom. Tell- tell me… tell me why…!” He needed to know, but Sans didn’t know why he needed to know. Or why he was still just standing. Or- or anything, really. Well, that was a lie. He knew about plenty of things, but nothing from all the books he read and the stories he listened to told him what to do right now. Even dad never taught him how to run from a human, and dad taught him a whole bunch of ways to keep himself safe since his Hp was so low. “Tell me.”_

_“Yeesh, you’re a pushy brat, aren’t cha? Heh, you kinda remind me of my oldest little shit. They’re annoying.” How strange that such mean words were said so fondly. “They look just like me, ya know? My youngest though? They take after their mom. Not that they’ll ever know.” That unfairly pretty smile stretched into a sneer. “Your kind did away with her. And for what reason? Because you’re too fucking weak to handle a startled woman lashing out with a fucking stick! A stick! Fuck, they didn’t even— I had to bury an empty grave. My wife made a mistake and- fuck, it was so messed up.”_

_“Mom didn’t hurt anyone,” Sans whispered, but… but this was about revenge, wasn’t it? In the stories, people never seemed to care about who did what when it came to getting revenge. They just wanted to make others hurt as much as they did. “How come you killed her?”_

_The human shrugged, uncaring. “So far, she’s the only monster stupid enough to crawl out of that hole without a set of armor on. It was an easy hit to make. Besides,” the human shrugged again, “she kinda looked like the fucker that killed my wife. Tall and boney and everything. I figured this was as close to retribution as I was gonna get.”_

_There were only two adult skeletons in the Underground Kingdom._

_With his mom gone, there would only be one—his dad._

_Somehow, Sans knew that this thought was important. He just… couldn’t quite figure out how when his mind felt miles away and Paps was squirming and-_

_Instinctively, he ducked. Sans was too slow though, and a sharp, searing pain made itself known in his socket. At the sensation, he nearly dropped Paps, but he held his brother closer and stumbled back. Just a few steps though, because he- he tripped. Over a rock, or a stick or… or_ something.

_Either way, Sans tripped, and black robes were the last thing he saw right before he cracked his skull open on the cold forest floor._

For one reason or another, his friend couldn’t take them home when he found them. Instead, he scared the human away and watched over them until his father- until Gaster showed himself, concerned by the length of their absence. Then, he was horrified. Enraged.

Stuck clinging to a single decimal of life, Sans slept through it all: Gaster’s appearance, being carried back home with a confused, unhappy Papyrus… He slept through the funeral in which what little was left of his mother was spread onto the red scarf Papyrus refused to let go of and on his mother’s beloved robes and her even more cherished portrait of their family. Sans slept through increased injections of a DETERMINATION as red as the human’s eyes. He slept through promises of retribution and an announcement of war.

Tiny, fragile Sans slept for nearly two months. And when he finally awoke?

_“...Sans, what is the last thing you remember?”_

_DT was a magic unique to humans, Sans knew. He read it in a book once, but he never really stopped and considered just what that meant; where the magic for the injections prolonging his life came from._

_“Sans?” Gaster called, his voice soft. “Please, answer me… What is the last thing that you remember?”_

_A skeleton killed the human’s wife. They took her body._

_There was only one adult skeleton now that his mom was gone._

_“Sans? I… understand that you must feel disoriented right now, but please. I- something… something took place, little scientist. And I- I need to know if you recall what happened. If not, then…” his father sighed shakily. His hands were trembling. “Sans…”_

_His gaze never left the steady stream of red being fed into his arm. DETERMINATION in a liquified form. Human magic._

_“Sans?”_

_With a smile, he looked to his dad… and lied._

_“I don’t really remember anything, dad.”_

Three years later, he continued to lie to anyone who asked him about the events that took place on his tenth birthday. It was… easy. Easier than facing the truth, at least. After all, if he could pretend that day never happened…

Then he could pretend that his father wasn’t a murderous _monster,_ too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya TK!


	7. Act 1, Scene 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TKWolf45 because I can~

“Sans…!”

Ah, speak of the devil. 

Sighing, the thirteen year old turned away. As he did so, he reached back for his hood and pulled the extra fabric forward until shadows concealed his face.  _ ‘I don’t want to deal with this right now…’  _ He was used to the lectures, but he didn’t have the stomach for dealing with the sad expressions Papyrus gave him whenever Sans managed to let him down somehow. The little guy’s disappointed face was surprisingly guilt inducing for a five year old’s attempt at manipulation. 

_ ‘Oh, who am I even kidding?’  _ Sans thought with a slight grin, ducking his head and turning the corner to get away.  _ ‘I’m just weak against my cool little bro.’  _

“Sans!” His father called out in the distance. 

He hurried his steps a little, but Gaster’s voice followed him as a particularly insistent echo of his name.  _ ‘C’mon, just… just give me five damn minutes, will you?’  _ He didn’t want to sit through a lecture, or worse: A rendition of Happy Birthday.

_ ‘It’s not the same without mom…’  _ This would be his third birthday without his mother, but Sans was certain that her absence would be felt this year as well, especially with The Anniversary hanging over all of their heads.  _ ‘I just… I want to be alone.’  _

He loved Paps more than anything else in the world. The stubborn parts of him still loved his father, too. But love didn’t make playing pretend any easier. If anything, it added more stress to the day because he  _ had  _ to keep a smile on his face if he wanted Papyrus to stay cheerful, and he  _ had  _ to act okay if he wanted to avoid Gaster’s concerning probing.

“Sans?  _ Sans!” _

A dozen or so heavy, invisible weights piled onto his shoulders. Glares, Sans knew without lifting his head. Even though everyone in the Underground Kingdom hated him, they still loved his father. To them, Gaster was the man who reintroduced them to so many wonders thought forever lost when they migrated into the mountain. Light, warmth… certain climates that some monsters needed to  _ survive…  _ his dad-  _ Gaster  _ had a hand in it all. 

No one knew that the guy was a murderer, and- and even if they did, Sans wasn’t all that sure that they would have cared. What used to be wary dislike was something that seemed a lot like hatred nowadays, and only the Queen and her followers really seemed to advocate for peace anymore. Monsterkind was, well, _kind,_ but their little kingdom was growing worn, and damaged. Their people were dying because of the humans yet again, so how many of them would care about what Gaster did? How many would even believe it?

“...Kid?” An older monster called, tone gruff and eyes wary when they met his damaged stare. Sans didn’t…  _ not  _ recognize him, but he couldn’t put a name to the guy’s face with any kind of certainty. Maybe he bought a hotdog from him, once? “I think you should answer the good doctor, there. He’s lookin’ worried.”

Gaster probably thought he was curled up in some alley—choking on too much of his own dust to answer his calls. He was probably worried, just like the monster said. Scared.

“...Whatever,” Sans mumbled, shouldering the weight of all those angry stares as he turned down a random path. 

Behind him, the monster sighed. Others began to whisper about what a horrible, rude son he was in addition to being a horrible, rude person. He was perfectly content to ignore them all—this was nothing new—until the guy that called out to him sudden spoke again. Shouted, really. And  _ not  _ to Sans.

“Hey! Doctor Gaster! Your boy went that way!”

Sockets widening in disbelief, Sans spared a single moment of his time to curse the monster out in his head before he suddenly bolted across the street. It… probably wasn’t smart of him—his breathing was already getting all funny—but he didn’t care. Sans needed  _ time!  _ Space! He just- he needed to be alone on this stupid, haunting day, if only for a little while so that he could  _ breathe! _

Apparently, the universe thought that it would be a great time for a joke, because he actually wheezed when he thought that.

_ ‘Haha…’  _ Since he didn’t have the breath for it, Sans was forced to keep his bitter little chuckle in his head. It wasn’t as dramatic as he liked.  _ ‘Sans has a stupid, broken body, so we’re gonna make him all… all….’ _

__ His throat burned, and his vision blurred so badly that the path he was running on started to look more like a snake slithering across the ground. Rather than fail to keep himself on it, he took a sudden turn and continued in a random direction. He wasn’t ready to be caught, not yet, damnit, but it was- hard. It was getting hard to keep running, and breathing, and- and even  _ thinking  _ was somehow starting to hurt. Sans was going to need to stop. Just for a bit.

_ ‘Not… not until I…’  _ His blurred vision began to grow spotted. From the corner of his eye, darkness crept forward.  _ ‘..I… can’t…’  _

He was wheezing even worse now, Sans knew. Gasping too. None of it was actually helping, though. The air was coming in too quickly for it to help, and it was leaving in faster than that. If he had the energy for it, Sans would have scolded himself for starting off with a mad dash rather than working up to a jog like he knew he was supposed to do. He didnt’t have the energy though, so he merely gasped and wheezed and stumbled about as his world spun.

“F… fuck… i-it…”

With a useless, pathetic gasp, Sans dropped down onto his knees and began digging through his pockets.  _ ‘Wh… where…?’  _ There—glass, and a bit of metal. Greedily—horribly, horribly so—he yanked the syringe free from his pocket and brought it close. From within, crimson gleamed in the light.

Crimson, like the red of that terrible human’s eyes.

_ DT was a magic unique to humans, Sans knew. _ And his father harvested it from a human woman who made a single, unfortunate mistake. Now, he probably collected it from- from prisoners of war, or- or even the corpses their battles were probably leaving behind all over the place. It was… horrible. Terrible. No good.  _ Foul.  _ Sans hated his father for having it. More than that, however…

He hated himself for being too afraid to refuse it.

_ ‘...I… I don’t want to die…’ _

* * *

In the distance, a tall figure stepped forward, crossing into the territory of the Underground Kingdom with that small, simple step just as a syringe plunged through a tiny sternum; extending a weakening life with a rush of crimson fluid. Around them, the world seemed to tremble, but only the figure paused, curious. Then, a realization hit him, and he scowled, annoyed. Pissed off, really. 

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” the figure growled, unheard even with an entire army at their back. Gods, they were so damn  _ noisy,  _ and too fucking close. He  _ hated _ when his work lined up with that damn piece of moldy, loud ass sushi’s. Worse,  _ he  _ was here too, hovering above their heads with that creepy ass smile of his. “Hey asshole! Do you feel that?”

No response. Of fucking course.

“Tch, whatever.” He didn’t want to talk to that empty eyed, emptier brained idiot anyways. Fuck, he didn’t even want to be here  _ at all.  _ He worked solo, damnit, and wars  _ were not  _ a solo act. No, they were a stupid fucking  _ group project. _

“Today is the day we end this!” Loud, annoying voices cheered. There were too many for his taste, and comfort. “Right here, right now… we finally do away with the enemy!” Speeches were stupid, fuck. Why couldn’t they just- “CHARGE!”

Finally, some fucking action.

* * *

Unable to handle the initial pain of the injection, Sans fell back; unconscious.

Seconds later, an alarm began to blare.

The humans were on their doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I jumped, like, SO MANY bullet points in my outline with this chapter.


	8. Act 1 Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and Gentlemen, theys and them... Act 1 comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Tk~ because they're my inspiration~

“Hey asshole! Do you feel that?”

He doesn’t answer. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have been able to even if he wanted. Caged within his chest, his soul pounds with a beat so ferocious that it consumes all sound—the anxious murmuring of the soldiers around them, War’s distant cry… none of it reaches him, and though Destruction stands but a few yards away, his voice is merely incomprehensible noise beneath that anxious beat. In that moment, Death has been deafened by his own fear. And for good reason, too.

A new god is on the verge of awakening.

And he knows that it is no coincidence that it is taking place  _ here. _

* * *

The blaring alarms ringing throughout the Underground Kingdom aren’t enough to wake Sans. 

Suffering from foreign magic and pain, he twitches and jerks about on the cold forest floor, but never wakes. His sockets never once so much as flutter, even when the scarred, wounded bone of his right eye begins to tingle, then  _ burn. _

Sans screams.

Sans cries.

Sans  _ changes. _

And he remains blissfully unaware through it all.

Others are drawn in by the sound, however. Some hear the cries of a child and attempt to seek him out with protection and aid in mind. Others catch onto signs of an easy target and move to strike.

Curious, a lone figure investigates.

He finds Sans first.

* * *

Dust thickens the air, turning an already tense atmosphere heavy with the scent and sight of death all about. As he runs, Gaster fights, but his movements are sloppy. He doesn’t have the time for showmanship or even precision—not with his youngest clutched in his hold. Instead, he shoots attacks at anything even vaguely humanoid. Sometimes, he hits those who ought to be allies, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop; can’t afford to hesitate when his eldest is still missing.

Sans was stronger now, but even at his strongest he was still so  _ frail.  _ A single encounter with one of these war-starved humans would end him. And then what would everything have been for? His secrets, the lies told to his late wife… No, Sans had to live.  _ He had to. _

“SANS…!” Papyrus cried, blinded by the crimson scarf thrown over his head. He kept trying to tug himself free of the beloved fabric, but Gaster merely tossed it back on whenever he managed to pop out. There were things a child didn’t need to see. “SANS? WHERE ARE YOU, SANS? I… I MADE ‘GHETTI CAKE FOR YOU!”

“Keep calling for him, Pa— _ hrk!” _ Gritting his teeth, Gaster breathed through the pain and quickly regained stumbling steps. The back of his coat was growing slick with blood, but he carried on. “We need to find him…” he growled, gesturing with a phantom hand. The human that dared attack him fell messily. “Sans?  _ Sans!” _

He has to find him, damnit. He-!

An arrow spears his shoulder. If it weren’t for the layers of protective ecto spread across his form as skin, then it would have hit Papyrus as well. Unacceptable.

Another human falls. Gaster carries forward with his son held close.

* * *

He’s weaving through the crowd when threads catch him by the arm. Instinctually, Death pulls his weight back as fine lines of magic tug, going so far as to dig his heels into the dirty, dusty floor in an attempt to resist the pull. At the same time, he tries to cut through the thread, but more lines of blue shoot his way to bind his limbs to his side in a single coil of string.

“Release me, Destroyer.” He doesn’t have time for this. Somewhere, his little mortal friend is waiting, unaware of the danger that he’s in. Not the war, no, but something else. Something  _ more.  _ “Whatever you want from me can wait.”

The skeleton across from him clicks his tongue in annoyance, wild, mismatched eyes narrowed in a glare. They aren’t friends, but their work tends to get tangled up together like the Destroyer’s infamous strings. It's this forced familiarity that makes it easier to see the curiosity beneath the other’s irritation.

“You’re up to something.”

Quite easily, he mimics his victims and remains as still as the dead. Lord Error may be younger than him, but he’s always been smart enough to make up for his inexperience… and his obvious phobias. If Death so much as twitches in response to the other’s probing, then it’ll be felt through the magic keeping him bound and the other will know for certain that the only motive for his presence isn’t work. Trapped as he is, he can’t afford to react.

“Oh?” Despite his worry for his small, mortal friend, Death hasn’t lost his smile. There’s many things that he is known for, and his empty eyes and emptier smile are infamous enough to draw eyes when absent. So, he keeps the grin in place even as his hands threaten to tremble and his soul continues to pound. “Am I now? Well then… go on, Lord Destroyer, sir. Tell me what I’m up to. I’m sure that all this—” he gestured around them, unflinching as a shrieking monster fell before him, their dust clinging to the dark fabric of his robe “—can wait.”

“Tch, bastard…” 

Error—honestly, what a strange name—crosses his arms. As he does so, blue glints in the light as thin strips of magic wrapped around tri-colored phalanges. He always wondered just how the other’s strange magic worked. Usually, Death makes a point to ask just because he knows that it annoys the other, but he can’t muster up any good humor at the moment. In truth, he’s mere seconds away from letting violent, corrosive magic eat away as his bindings. It would hurt the other skeleton, but Death was finding it very difficult to care at the moment.

“Well? You’re wasting my time, Lord Destroyer. If you have any theories, then share them now. Death may wait for all, but even I am capable of losing my patience.”

Again, Error made a sound of annoyance. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to, but I don’t like it. You’re acting shifty.”

“Skulking comes natural to me, I assure you.”

“Skulk- that’s not what I fucking mean and you know it! You- you’re just-” The threads around him tightened, cluing Death into Error’s growing irritation. “You aren’t reaping. So far, you haven’t pulled that damn scythe out even  _ once.  _ I don’t trust that. I don’t trust  _ you  _ not doing your fucking job. Shit always goes wrong when you slack off.”

Death let his smile grow perverse. “Are you watching me, Lord Destroyer? My oh my, how…  _ flattering.  _ Ah, but does your husband know? I’d had to begin a tryst without his knowledge… or inclusion.”

Immediately, he knew he made a mistake. Once his words settled in, the younger god’s face grew hot with visible rage, and his threads tightened considerably. Error couldn’t kill him, but he  _ could  _ manage to put Death out of commission for quite some time if he wanted to. And right now? The living embodiment of destruction looked like he wanted to.

“Don’t bring that bastard into this,” Error growled, fingers slowly curling into a fist. “I put up with your bullshit when I have to, but Ink is off limits, you creepy-eyed—”

* * *

“—fuck,” Gaster cursed, sight blurred with pain. 

Papyrus, still in his hold, clearly heard him, but the young skeleton kept quiet. Even if he hadn’t been trembling, his silence alone would have told Gaster just how terrified his youngest was. The little thing  _ always  _ scolded others for using naughty language.

Unfortunately, there was no time to offer his youngest the reassurance he needed. With every second that passed, another monster fell. They may have had a fighting chance if they were prepared, but no one expected an army on their doorstep today. For the past two years, The Anniversary acted as an unspoken day of truce. Like fools, they believed that truce would carry on this year as well.

Oh, how wrong they were.

When the humans invaded, there were about two of them for every monster. Now, the ratios were skewed even more drastically. Backed into a corner, Gaster was facing thirteen at once. He had the magic and skill to hold his own, but… not easily. And not without injury, either.

If he were an honest man, he would have admitted that his current situation was hopeless. Gaster threw honesty away years ago however, so he simply turns to lies. “It’s going to be okay, little chef,” he promises, gritting his teeth in an attempt to contain a watery cough. He finally managed to take out the archers. Unfortunately, he failed to do so  _ before  _ being hit in some painfully vital areas.

“It’s going to be okay…” Gaster insists. And if it isn’t…? Well, his wife used to pray to the gods, didn’t she? The least Gaster could hope for was that one of them had her waiting for them, and that they’d all be together after this; whole. “I love you, Papyrus.”

Maybe it’s his tone that clues him. Maybe the small skeleton is simply brighter than Gaster has assumed of the five year old. Or maybe Papyrus is simply scared. Either way, he begins to cry following his father’s words.  
“L… Love daddy too…” Papyrus cries, his voice meek where it’s always been so boisterous. “A-and… and I love Sans…!”

“Me too…” Gaster murmurs, curling forward over Papyrus when his legs give out. He doesn’t stop firing off attacks, but the humans are advancing. There’s more of them now, too. “I love Sans too.”

A human soldier lifts a heavy, dusty sword above his head with a grunt. In that moment, Gaster thinks his dying regret will be never knowing if Sans is even still alive. It’s enough to bring rare tears to his eyes.

“...Da… daddy…?” 

But at the sound of that familiar voice, his wavering eyelights dart up just in time to catch a hazy one-eyed gaze. Sans. It’s… “Sans,” he breathes, weary expression warming. He doesn’t look away as the human’s wicked blade swings.

That day, Gaster dies with a smile, knowing that his children will be safe.

* * *

Watching the skeleton monster turn to dust, he winces. It’s a rare event but, at that moment, he can’t help but curse. “Aw, shit… not cool, human dudes.”

In his arms, his new little friend inhales.

Then, he  _ screams. _

“DAD!”

Not cool  _ at all. _

Death is busy worming out of Error’s threads when he feels yet another soul fall into his grasp. He’s well accustomed to the sensation, and yet… this one gives him pause. This one is…  _ different.  _ Important somehow, though he doesn’t know how. Not yet.

Error is still spouting threats.

He vanishes before the younger god can carry any of them out, leaving nothing more than disturbed dust and broken, decaying fibers of thread behind.

…

…

…

He’s too late though, because just as Death arrives…

...his mortal friend disappears.

The sight of his face smeared with blood and tears is the last memory of little Sans that Death will carry for years.


	9. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Geno's perspective is given a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Reference to trafficking

When he takes the children, it isn’t an act of spontaneity made on a whim, but something with at least a little thought put behind it. His little friend—Sans, apparently—is something special, and Fresh knows what that means. He’s special himself, after all. So, he picks the little guy up with hands unaccustomed to holding children, and continues his walk. There’s a nagging voice somewhere in the back of his head that tells him to stay just a little longer, so he does. It’s only when they come across a skeleton curled over his child and his new friend screams for his father that the voice goes away.

With it gone, he wraps his magic around the tiny skeleton sitting in his father’s dust and takes his leave, his little friend, now ward, still screaming in his hold.

“Well, that wasn’t very cool of the humans,” he says, attempting to sympathize. 

Only, he forgets to tilt his smile into something sadder when he does so. He doesn’t have time to fix his mistake though. Sans has already seen, and his displeasure is made known as teeth sink into Fresh’s shoulder, small hands clawing at his arms until they drop, and so does Sans.

There’s a nasty crack, then blood.

“SANS!” the tinier skeleton screams, small form rattling with sobs and even smaller fingers clutching a bloody, dusty scarf. “SANS! SANSSANSSANS-”

_ ‘Ooops.’ _

And that’s how his first few minutes as a single father of two plays out.

* * *

Things don’t get any easier. As it turns out, tiny Sans is thirteen and every teenage stereotype amplified to an extreme. He screams at Fresh until he’s hoarse, curses him with every foul word he knows, then screams even louder when he realizes that, somehow, his words are being altered in a way that takes vitriol and transforms it into humor. Sans is angry and bitter and  _ hurt,  _ and so afraid that even Fresh can understand the terror fueling his reactions, even if he doesn’t quite understand how to soothe it.

Papyrus does, thankfully. By the time Sans wakes with a wince and an aching skull, the youngest skeleton is dressed in something cleaner with his filthy scarf still clutched by tiny hands. He doesn't let the scarf go even when he realizes that his older brother is awake, but he does remove a single hand to reach out, patting his brother’s skull where the faintest scar now resides in a place of a nasty wound that should have taken much, much longer to heal.

“Sans…” Papyrus greets, voice muted in comparison to his panicked cries from earlier. 

And that’s all it ever seems to take after that. Whenever his brother gets riled up or works himself up into a frenzy, tiny Papyrus merely reaches out with that quiet whisper, and Sans goes still. It’s useful, and convinces Fresh for good that it wasn’t such a bad idea to bring the mortal along, not when Papyrus so easily blew away his expectations for a sibling’s use. Sans loves his brother, and that in itself is an incredibly useful tool.

After that first day, Fresh takes to using Papyrus as a bargaining chip of sorts. It’s obvious to Sans and cruel to Papyrus, though he means both no harm, but it works. Sans stills screams and curses and screams some more, but he  _ listens.  _ And that’s good. Great!

Because Fresh  _ needs  _ him to listen.

* * *

“Why’d you take me?” Sans tries to demand, but he doesn’t have enough force behind his words, or any confidence in his stance. Wearing a shirt that acts more like a dress with a rope around his ankle to keep him from running—or teleporting, much to his earlier terror—he pressed into the corner with his brother in his arms, and a wavering scowl on his face. There’s no intimidation or authority to be found, just a teenager who keeps trying to be a man when he’s really just a child. “Why- why’d you take me, and Paps?  _ What do you want?” _

“What makes ya think I want somethin’ from ya, lil skele?” he questions back.

Sans scowls harder. “I… I don’t know you. There were never any other skeletons in the Underground, but- but then you showed up, and-  _ and you just took us!  _ Dad needed help, but you just-  _ what do you want?  _ Why’d you take us, and why won’t you let us  _ leave?!”  _ His gaze flicks down to the rope around his ankle, then his borrowed clothing, considering. It’s interesting to see the way the kid’s red, angry flush vanishes and how his melted eye tries to go wide when whatever direction his thoughts turn leaves him even more frightened than before. “You… you aren’t- aren’t…”

There’s another question there, obviously, but it seems stuck. So, he tries to give Sans the push he appears to need. “I ain’t what?”

“Let Paps go,” Sans suddenly pleads, trying to angle his body away so that the smaller skeleton is better concealed. “I- I can give you what you want, but- but let him go. He’s only five! He- he’s a  _ baby!  _ I’ll do it, but don’t make Paps…!  _ Oh gods,  _ don’t- don’t make him-!”

When all that previous anger turns to tears, Fresh realizes that, somewhere along the way to communicating, they got lost. Again. “Don’t make him what, kiddo?”

“I’m not  _ stupid!  _ I- I read a lot. About science, a-about the history between humans and monsters. Wars, and- and monsters who manage to keep their heads on their shoulders by- by working with the humans. I- I  _ read,  _ and I know all about- about-” His next breath leaves him as a wheeze, and all the ones that follow are too fast to be effective. “Paps is practically just a baby. He- he doesn’t know how to use magic  _ like that.  _ Don’t- I’ll do it, so- so let him go…! Don’t sell him to- to the- the…”

It takes much longer than it should to piece together the assumption Sans made, and Fresh is left feeling… off kilter, to the say the least. Disgust has always been the easiest emotion to feel, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth now. Very few mortal concerns are relevant to the man—the creature—he is now, but he knows the same history this small, young thing seems to be referencing: Monsters that sell their own kind to humans in an attempt to live another day, leaving them to suffer at their hands; to be  _ used.  _

It’s a terrible fate, and one these young skeletons wouldn’t have had to worry about in the safety of their kingdom. But that kingdom is gone, and Fresh has taken them to an unfamiliar place where he dressed them in loose clothing and tied the eldest to the bed like a dog. From Sans’ eyes, it’s obvious where their path seems to be headed, and he’s willing to travel it alone if only to free his brother from the hell he’s envisioning. In a way, that’s… very admirable, and so very,  _ very  _ terrible.

So, Fresh reaches out, his hand hovering over the rope. “I ain’t plannin’ to hurt ya, lil guy. I ain’t plannin’ on lettin’  _ anyone  _ hurt ya. I just need ya ta understand that, if ya run, it’ll be bad. Not ‘cause I’m gonna punish ya, but because of what ya are.”

“A monster?” Sans whispers, and he both looks and sounds younger than he is.

It’s not the right time for such an expression, but Fresh let’s himself smile anyways. Even without a mirror, he knows it looks grim. “Ya ain’t a monster anymore, lil god.”

Sans gapes, and Fresh cuts him loose.

He regrets it when Sans gets up with his brother, and  _ runs. _

* * *

“I don’t believe you,” is the first thing Sans says once Fresh has him back in bed, tied with the same rope from earlier. He’s nice enough to let Papyrus continue sitting next to his brother, aware that it keeps the older child at ease. “I- I don’t believe you! I know  _ all  _ about the gods, and- and I would  _ know  _ if I was one! My mom- my mom would have known too! She- she would have known…!”

Fresh does try to be gentle in his delivery, but gentleness isn’t really his thing. “Hate to break it to ya, but… nah, she wouldn’t have. This stuff ain’t for mortals, lil god. They ain’t completely blind to us, but they don’t feel the way the world shakes when a god is born like we do, and it ain’t common enough an event for them to get a feel for it, either. Maybe your ma called ya special once or twice, but ain’t that what parents do? This though? This is  _ more.” _

“I don’t believe you,” Sand whispers yet again, stubborn. “I… I don’t  _ feel  _ like a god.”

“Yeah, you do.” Fresh is certain of that. “Ya feel like a god, kid. Not just that, but ya  _ look  _ like one, too. Been awhile since I’ve seen an awakenin’’ hit someone this hard. Even my own didn’t change much.” Outwardly, at least. “Ya ain’t completely settled though, so we’ll see what the final product is. Ya may be awake now, but ya got a long way to go until you’re aware.”

It’s only when the silence hits that Fresh realizes that, yet again, he’s made a mistake. 

“I… I don’t… look different?” Geno whispers, staring down at his hands. Delicate bones, stockier with youth, and… and that’s it? Nothing new that he can see. Sure, there’s red magic collected in his joints and staining the tips of his tingling fingers, but- but even  _ that  _ isn’t strange. His magic always goes red after a dosage of his medication, but it’ll fade. “You’re wrong, I- I don’t look any different!  _ You’re wrong!” _

Silently, Fresh watches crimson magic dribble from Sans’ left eye, his right unable to produce the magic to do so. Absentmindedly, the godling wipes at his face, clearing away the watery tears. And yet, crimson sorrow still remains, inked into the white bone beneath that lone crying eye as tears that the other skeleton will never be able to conceal. Because of those markings, even Sans’ anger looks so  _ sad.  _

_ ‘I’m not sure this kid is cut out for this.’  _ Time would see Sans’ mentality shift from that of a mortal’s to the mindset of a god, but it wouldn’t happen quickly.  _ ‘If he’s already this sensitive, then the kid probably has some sort of bleeding heart,’  _ and those never worked out for-

Around him, the world  _ shuddered.  _ Fresh held his breath. Although it was unintentional, Sans did too.

Then, the air was forced back out of the godling’s lungs as bones split with an echoing crack, Sans screaming at the sight and sensation of an invisible hand clawing open a wicked wound that stretched from shoulder to hip. Nestled within his chest, his very soul _ burned, _ and scorching, crimson magic pooled out from the wound, more escaping his mouth when the pain churned into nausea. It was over in less than a minute. It took half that time for Sans to waver, falling back in a dead faint. 

Instantly, the world stopped trembling, and Fresh could breathe again.

Even in his sleep, Sans continued to weep and bleed. At his side, Papyrus sobbed. And Fresh? Fresh stared, taking in the small, bloodied form and those crimson tears, considering. Musing.  _ Thinking,  _ until, with full certainty, he whispered a greeting put into a single word:

“Tragedy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here we go! My apologies to everyone who enjoyed the original story, but I promise that we'll get back to those events and all that drama... eventually. Little Sans here just needs to grow up and experience Geno-worthy levels of trauma first. For those of you who may be new and have no idea what I'm taking about, this story is a rewrite of the story [Of Tragedy and Death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290481/chapters/45879853)
> 
> If you have any questions about the rewrite, feel free to leave them in the comments or drop them off at my tumblr: [Yo!](https://jellyfish-swims-through-gold.tumblr.com/) I'll answer what I can!


End file.
